


No Man's Land

by HenryMercury



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: (Dottie would prefer it to be pre-slash though), Coda, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Maybe pre-fix-it, Post-Season/Series 02, whichever you prefer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-16
Updated: 2016-03-16
Packaged: 2018-05-27 04:39:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6269974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HenryMercury/pseuds/HenryMercury
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dottie knows what it is to be unmade and made over again. She knows just how much a person, a strong enough person, can be broken down before the pieces become useless. Dottie knows far better than to dismiss the pieces of Whitney Frost she sees right now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Man's Land

"Doctor Katherine Wexford," Dottie informs the door guard. He looks sceptical, and for a moment she wonders whether she should just have posed as a friend instead. Some vapid American girl. The kind of girl Whitney Frost is. The kind of girl Agnes Cully has posed as all her life. But stealing another of Peggy's disguises was too tempting an opportunity to pass over. After a little convincing, the security guard opens the door and Dottie steps inside. It's almost strange, being in a cell that's someone else's instead of her own.

Whitney sits facing the far window. The blooms of a dozen decapitated roses roll on the sill. They're from Joseph Manfredi, no doubt. Thoughtful, wasteful, affectionate. Dottie's watched him enough to know that bringing flowers to a ward such as this is characteristic. He must have had to rip them off their stalks one by one in order to give them to her. That task would have been a fair reflection of what goes on here.

Whitney is muttering something under her breath. Fast, monotonous, continuous.

"Hey gorgeous," Dottie speaks over her.

The chanting pauses. "Cal?" Whitney asks. "Cal is that you?"

"No, thankfully," Dottie replies. "Someone much better than Cal. I'm Dottie. You remember me, don't you?" She approaches the chair where Whitney sits slowly, though not too slowly. A casual pace, not a fearful one. She stands to the side so that Whitney can see her face without having to turn. Dottie knows how moving can be difficult with that many straps around your torso.

"I like your jacket," she says, friendly. "White suits you."

"No it doesn't," Whitney snaps. It's something other than chanting and confusion and _Cal,_ and Dottie is pleased. The reverie is broken for now, and in this relative clarity it's time to put forth her proposal.

"Whitney." Frost's eyes meet Dottie's. "Do you want to get out of here?"

Whitney frowns. "Why? Why would you take me anywhere? What could you possibly want with me now?"

And there's a question. Not a question that should be answered in full yet.

"You interrogated me, once. Remember? I sure remember. It was the best I ever had." She pauses for a cheerful smile. "And I've had a _lot_. You should be proud."

"I can't— I can't do that anymore." Whitney's eyes drop, and they start to glaze over.

"That's okay," Dottie says quickly, sweetly. "The supernatural torture was just what got my attention. It's what's in here," she taps Whitney's smooth-skinned temple lightly, "that's holding it now."

"I'm listening."

"You were right about me; nobody from home is looking after me anymore. And Peggy... well, she's not..."

Peggy just isn't playing the game the way Dottie wants her to. She doesn't return her affections. When Dottie first came to America she'd thought she would find that such relations between women were commonplace; it had been one aspect of the West's depravity that she'd actually struggled to despise. But despite Dottie's best efforts, Peggy's been more interested in a scientist without a solid body and the floppy little Agent Sousa who's calling himself Chief these days. Dottie just doesn't understand it. America has been an even greater disappointment than expected.

"Peggy Carter doesn't understand you the way you think she does," says Whitney. "Just because she sees you better than most doesn't mean she sees you _well_."

It's true, and it stings, not that Dottie can't work past that. Whitney's low voice is a balm. If anyone is clever enough to unravel Dottie, there's a good chance it's her. And, importantly, she speaks as though she's willing to try.

"I'm going somewhere no one will find me for a while," Dottie explains. "I thought you might like to join me. A bit of a vacation."

Whitney smiles. It doesn't reach her eyes but Dottie knows better than to ask for that. Whitney's stare remains sharp and clear, which is good enough.

"Might I slip into something more comfortable?" Whitney asks, shifting her arms slightly under the straitjacket that pins them to her chest.

"Not yet, but soon," Dottie promises. It's hard to ignore the claw marks on Whitney's face, after all. If Dottie had ever had the kind of power that Whitney has lost, she'd be missing it too. But no loss has to last forever. Really, it's incredible what a person can lose and still survive. Dottie knows what it is to be unmade and made over again. She knows just how much a person, a strong enough person, can be broken down before the pieces become useless. Dottie knows far better than to dismiss the pieces of Whitney Frost she sees right now.

"A vacation," Whitney repeats. "But I've got so much work left to do. Without zero matter, I barely even know who I am anymore."

"Let me tell you something," Dottie leans in close. "Are you listening, Whitney? Because this is important."

They make eye contact, and Dottie can see that Whitney's slipping away again. Before she goes, though, Dottie makes sure she gets the last few crucial words into her ear:

"We can be anything we want."

**Author's Note:**

> I'm also on [tumblr](http://henrymercury.tumblr.com/).


End file.
